


l'image différée | afterimage

by binmundane



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: And it's Hannibal, Autistic Will Graham, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Male Character, Trans Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Trans Will Graham, the character death is in the past, written by a trans man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-01-31 01:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binmundane/pseuds/binmundane
Summary: After the fall, Will moves to Bucharest.Haunted by Hannibal's death at his hands, Will goes about daily life in Bucharest --far, faraway from anyone he knows -- until he meets Nigel, a Hannibal look-alike who swears like a sailor and always has a cigarette between his lips.[previous title: the ghost of you]
Relationships: Past Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Nigel (Charlie Countryman)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to my friend [arthur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candy_pop) for betaing this first chapter!! 
> 
> got this idea stuck in my head and had to get it out.
> 
> first chap doesnt include shit abt them being trans but itll come up l8r
> 
> im a trans man and love making my fav charas trans

Will wrinkled his nose as the scent of street food, sweat and piss assaulted his senses. 

Months after the fall, Will was divorced and — for the most part — had left everything behind him. Waking up on a beach near their battleground, near where he and Hannibal had overtaken the Great Red Dragon, and seeing Hannibal’s corpse in the water had broken him more than the fall had. He’d anticipated both of them dying, or both of them living, never even considering it would be one and not the other. 

Bringing out the keys to his shitty Bucharest apartment, Will wasn’t entirely sure what his feelings on his on his own survival  _ were,  _ only that they were negative. 

There was something in a movie, the first Saw movie. He hadn’t been able to watch anything more than the first one, all the other movies coming across as torture porn given plot, but he remembered the lines, “You’re grateful to be alive, not many people are grateful for that. But you are,” after the person had gone through the  _ game _ and came out alive. After they had gone through severe physical and mental trauma just because some stranger had decided it should be so. To that person, it was  _ just. _

Will knew he’d been put through that, felt it in the way he no longer jumped from loud noises but instead centered his body and dropped into a defensive stance. He felt it when he washed his face and felt the scar left from the bone-saw and then the other from the knife in his jaw. He saw it when he looked in the mirror without a shirt on and noted the way his scar resembled a  _ smile, _ the way it  _ made  _ him smile. It didn’t make him grateful. 

There was something very wrong with him, and that was as good of a reason as any to get away. Molly and Walter deserved someone who didn’t dream of mutilation, who didn’t look at their hands and wish they were bloody.

She didn’t understand, but she hadn’t fought. 

He jiggled the handle, turning it in that special way he had to to get it unstuck. The door was put in wrong, but the contract Will signed said he couldn’t do anything to fix the apartment, saying he needed to call the landlord and get him to get someone on it. 

Regular renting etiquette, he knew, but after having his own house for so long it was annoying to have to live with something he could fix. 

Walking in, he still expected a flurry of tails and noses to assault him, subconsciously reaching down to pet them before remembering his pack remained in the US with Molly. 

Jaw clenching, he kept his eyes to the floor as he walked into the kitchen to prepare dinner. 

The rest of the night passed in a blur, his mind somewhere else as it always was. The stream was bloody as he cast his line, staining his clothes. Why wasn’t he in his boots? Why could he feel the sludge at the bottom of the stream press up in between his toes?

Sleep didn’t come easy, but it never did anymore, and Will wasn’t sure he remembered a time when it had. 

—

The little shop by his apartment was the only thing that was a comfort to him; pastries and ice cream making his day brighter, as well as filling his stomach with something other than the frozen vegetables he bought at the convenience store. 

Luckily for Will, it seemed as though a lot of people spoke or understood English in some capacity. Even for those who didn’t, if you let go of your shame and played charades in the street, usually people could understand what you were trying to ask. 

An English to Romanian dictionary and phrasebook sat heavy in his back pocket, pressed tightly in the same pocket as his wallet. In the other back pocket were both his phones — one for if someone in the U.S. needed to contact him, and the other for his work or friends here. He’d wanted to make sure he could separate the two.

If he ever got a job or friends, that was. 

As it stood, both phones went largely unused aside from the occasional text from any of his contacts in the U.S. asking how he was doing, if he was moving back, if he’d gotten a job, everything of the sort. 

After a month of being in Bucharest, the texts had mostly stopped. He answered them, but not in a way that invited further conversation. He answered them only so they knew he was alive and a team wouldn’t be sent after him by Jack. Molly was the only one whose call he’d answered, and they’d spoken for a few minutes until the awkward pauses dominated the entire interaction.

When they’d said their goodbyes and hung up, Will had sat down and closed his eyes. 

That was the last time they were ever going to talk. 

Not by his choice only, but both of theirs simultaneously. 

Being able to predict people and the outcomes of his actions, while handy, had the potential to be devastating. 

Wringing his hands together, Will’s eyebrows furrowed. He  _ wasn’t _ devastated by that.

When he closed his eyes, he still saw the look of adoration — borderline  _ arousal  _ — on Hannibal’s face when he’d cut into the Great Red Dragon. Will still felt Hannibal’s hand around his waist, still felt his collarbone against his forehead. 

He’d killed him. After  _ years _ of their little game, their intricate courtship consisting of blows, long-winded metaphors, and murder attempts. 

He’d put an end to it with a mere  _ push. _

The heels of his palms burrowed into his eye sockets, causing stars and galaxies to appear behind his eyelids. 

God, he was tired. 

He sat there for what could’ve been hours in his disoriented head but was only a few minutes to everyone else — his knees bumping each other as he tensed his entire body.

It wasn’t until he felt the table shake and a chair squeak that he looked up. 

Will let out a gasp, his legs pushing his chair away from the man opposite him with a loud squeal against the floor.

The man’s skin was a shade tanner than Hannibal’s, and his hair a shade lighter. Strands were free to move about his head as they pleased, unencumbered by hair gel or even a comb, it looked like. It wasn’t unflattering, the hair laying on top of his head as soft looking as that of the man he’d known, albeit a little greasier. 

His bone structure, eyes, shoulders, and mouth all looked  _ exactly _ like Hannibal. Will’s heart picked up as he saw the man’s eyes turn to him, and Will realized time was moving slower, his adrenaline kicking in at the face of the man he’d killed.

“Do you owe me money or some shit?” The stranger wearing Hannibal’s face said around his cigarette, lips moving in such a familiar way Will thought he was going to be sick. 

“Not - Not that I know of,” Will replied, still taking in the sight of a familiar stranger.

“Then stop fucking losing your mind over me sitting in a public fucking area,” Not-Hannibal huffed out, the profanity sounding odd in Hannibal’s voice yet flowing perfectly from this man’s lips. 

“You have a tattoo?” Will found his mouth working before his mind could catch up, something unusual for him. Will’s mind was a motorboat if it had seven different engines going off at once all trying to be the loudest, most of them transmitting their messages with visual input as well as audio. His words often had to be planned, otherwise, he’d mix words or sentences together from the word salad that was his head. 

The other man’s eyebrow rose, the side of his mouth rising in contempt along with it. There were no microexpressions to examine, only outright movements of the other’s face. 

“No, I paint this shit on every day. Spend the first hour of every fucking morning bringing out my watercolors and slathering that shit on my neck,” His glare continued as he took a large puff of his cigarette, blowing the smoke directly into Will’s face. “You done staring? Because I can give you something to fucking stare at,” he continued, voice a tad lower as he leaned in closer. 

This wasn’t Hannibal, this was another breed of predator Will was looking at. 

Will kissed his teeth, looking down at the table as he scooted his chair back up. “Sorry,” He muttered out, looking back up and at the stranger, “Just wound up pretty tight. Didn’t expect to see someone so close.” 

The smoking man hummed in response, peering at him from the side of his eye while inhaling.

What did people normally do in situations like this? Was there a handbook of etiquette for these types of things? Small talk was never something Will excelled in, and this man didn’t seem like the type to want to engage in such things. The best option seemed to be  _ leaving _ , getting up and pretending this was another hallucination.

Yet, he didn’t feel safe turning his back to this man. 

And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

“So, what’s your name? I’m Will,” he offered what he assumed was a truly pathetic attempt at a smile, only getting confirmation when the other quirked an amused grin. 

“Nigel.” Eyes raked up and down Will’s body, and Will took note of his gaze stopping at his forehead; the exposed scar didn’t attract many looks, most people’s eyes going to his own, or his unhappy expression, but from the twitch of Nigel’s eyebrow Will knew he had questions. The sight of the scar didn’t change the mild attraction in his gaze, however. “What brings you here?”

Will’s eyes flicked away — a force of habit. He forced a smile to accompany the words he said next: “Do you want the truth, or a platitude?” 

Eyes narrowed, but not in anger. 

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t want the fucking truth.”

For some reason he didn’t think telling this man he was previously in law enforcement was a good idea. 

“Someone very dangerous took an interest in me.” He said it with nonchalance, his shoulders coming up in a lighthearted shrug. 

The other man huffed out a surprised laugh. “Guess that’s what’s wrong with your face.” 

Will rolled his eyes, his body language becoming more casual by the second as he felt himself mirroring the man opposite him. It was… a relief, to feel his body relax in such a manner. 

He couldn’t remember the last time his shoulders hadn’t been welded in a straight line, the muscles of his back constantly clenched as if anticipating a blow. 

“Only one of these scars is from him,” He admitted, drinking in the way Nigel’s attention locked onto him closer once more.

“Oh? Well, can’t leave a man hanging like that. Tell me about them.” Nigel propped his elbows onto the table as he leaned forward, all of his attention on Will. He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose, all the while maintaining eye contact with Will.

Will hummed. What he’d expected to be a tense, one-sided conversation was something totally different. The way the other man projected his vulgarity, and nonchalance had an almost calming effect on Will. 

He almost felt… flirtatious. 

“I can’t tell  _ everything  _ on the first meeting. There has to be some air of mystery to me, if only for a little bit.” 

Nigel’s eyes darkened. 

_ Hooked him. _

“You assume there will be another meeting?”

Will shrugged. “I’d like there to be. I don’t know anyone here, and you seem like you have an  _ air of mystery  _ to you as well. Do you think we could dig in to each other?” 

Nigel ran his tongue over his lips, Will’s eyes darting to the movement then quickly looking back up. Judging from Nigel’s smirk, which spread all the way up to his half lidded gaze, he’d noticed.

Will heard the vibration of a phone and watched Nigel pull it from his pocket. A scowl crossed his face before smoothing over into a small frown. 

“Same time tomorrow,” was all he said before getting up abruptly and putting the phone to his ear, walking away from Will and the small cafe. 

Will stared after him until he was no longer visible. He could feel his mind latching onto this man, a familiar yet completely  _ foreign  _ person to him. Someone he’d never met before, but who wore the face of the person who’d haunted him for years, up until his end. 

Maybe this was Hannibal still, haunting him from beyond the  _ fucking  _ grave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Nigel have their second meeting, just in a somewhat unexpected way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changed the title of it so its no longer a mcr song title and looks a little more pretty

Will walked around the grocery store, thinking of what could possibly fill his stomach for the next few days. He wasn’t a chef, and the money he’d brought from the U.S. wasn’t going to last forever. He’d left most of his savings with Molly and Walter out of guilt. 

It was enough for an apartment on the bad side of town, groceries for a few months, his testosterone, and his phone bill. If the math he’d done was right — and it was — he would be able to live without a job for four more months before he ran out of money and was kicked out onto the streets. 

He had a degree, good career history, good references, but job hunting in a place where you didn’t speak much of the language wasn’t easy. He didn’t know anyone, and he doubted he would pass a mental examination to be in their police force. 

And with that thought, Nigel was drawn to the forefront of his mind once more. 

Nigel was a topic sizzling below the surface at all times since the day previous, the interaction they shared playing on a constant repeat. 

Their next meeting wasn’t due for another three hours, but Will could already feel his very core shaking with anticipation. Who  _ was _ this man? Nigel was the only name he’d gotten from him, and of course, searching “Nigel Bucharest” had produced absolutely no useful results. He could tell from the man’s presence that he wasn’t all on the right side of the law, a fact which Will could see becoming something of interest to him. 

Outside of Molly — he had a type.

Molly was the exact opposite of what he knew his type to be. It was, in some way, intentional on his part — a way for him to feel something for her that was completely separate from what he felt for Hannibal at the time. Every cell in his body longed for Hannibal, and the only way to fix it and move on was to  _ cut  _ him out. Separate his feelings for Hannibal from the rest of his thoughts and put it in a nice little compartment — a tackle box he threw onto the other side of the stream he waded in.

Now, the loss of Hannibal hurt as though he were being gutted once more, and the thought of what they had shared those months ago on that cliff crossed his mind’s eye. In the plains of his head, Hannibal still lived. He stood by the stream, the side opposite of where he threw the manifestation of his feelings, watching the blood flow. 

Hannibal had put effort into the construction of a memory palace, whereas Will’s came with his imagination and tendency to get… mentally lost during his childhood. The few doctors they could afford in his childhood called it several things, several disorders with long and clinical names that never fit and they ended up scrapping. The only one that stuck was autism, having been diagnosed when he was a kid in school, covering his ears so hard his head hurt at the sounds of pencils scratching paper in the classroom. 

He had eventually gotten earplugs, and as he got older his sensory issues got better. Certain textures in food still hurt him, and the feeling of slime on his hands was something he would  _ never _ tolerate. 

Social issues were a constant in his life, however, and while usually he didn’t give it a single thought, he noticed how people looked at him as he averted his eyes from theirs, shrugged out of any contact, and stimmed constantly using his hand.

With people who knew him, they understood that he was _ like that. _ Yet, strangers in a foreign country couldn’t possibly guess that. 

It wasn’t that he cared what people thought, or wanted to make long-lasting relationships, but he desperately didn’t want to seem  _ suspicious,  _ even though he was doing nothing _ . _

Approaching the cashier with his groceries, Will subconsciously took on their posture and his stimming stopped, his hands only moving to set his groceries on the counter. 

The cashier went through the usual greetings — Will noticed it was much less of a hassle than in the United States, where employees acted like robots smiling the entire way through — and scanned his groceries. Will mumbled a ‘thank you’ in Romanian, grabbed his reusable grocery bag, and left. 

At least his “Thank you” was intelligible, now he just needed to work on every other phrase. 

The prospect of learning an entirely new language was both fun and daunting, his brain excited for the stimulation yet decidedly  _ not _ excited for the  _ practicing _ aspect. Talking to people wasn’t what he was best at even in the language he’d spoken since childhood, and now talking to others in a tongue foreign to him was required. 

It was what he chose, moving to a place where English was second to something else, and while he didn’t regret, it he did wonder why he’d made that particular choice. 

The walk home wasn’t a long one. The part of town Will lived in was a place where you could pretty much walk anywhere if need be, and Will had a bike at home in case he needed to go farther distances.

Two blocks away from his home, and Will heard a gunshot go off not fifty feet away. 

_ At midday?  _

His hand immediately went for the gun he no longer had, cursing when he realized his error. He patted the left pocket of his jeans, relieved when he felt his utility knife. He then whipped his head toward the sound, his feet still taking him toward his home on autopilot. He didn't see the man with the gun, but he saw a civilian walk past an alleyway, running away with a shocked face when they looked down it. 

Will bit his lip, his pulse quickening at the aspect of danger.  _ Not again, not again-  _ his brain kept repeating, urging him away from the alleyway, begging him to walk the two blocks to his apartment and forget he ever heard anything. 

He wrapped the handles to his grocery bag around his wrist for a better grasp, holding and balancing it to where his footsteps didn't make the bag crinkle.

Will stopped at the wall, out of sight of anyone in the alley as he focused his ears, trying to gain an idea of what happened before he rounded the corner. 

A man talking. Husky voice, laden with threat. A few romanian curses littered his speech. 

Reaching into his pocket, he unfolded the knife with a stealth he’d gained from every killer’s mind he’d ever been in. 

In truth, he could easily be one of those killers.

The knife was a measly one, resembling more of a box cutter than a blade, but Will had seen fatal damage be done with much less. A vision of Hannibal appeared in his mind's eye, hours and hours of torture and  _ elevation _ he could've implemented with the knife in Will's grasp. 

_ If he were still alive, that is. _

Will shook himself out of his reverie, his heart rate elevated slightly. He missed having blood on his hands and part of him  _ hungered _ for it.

It was this part that pushed him to look down the alleyway. 

A man stood over another, the standing man wearing a leather jacket and worn down jeans. The man underneath was obscured by the other’s legs, but the glimpse of light hair and hint of a voice was all he needed to identify him. 

Nigel lay on the pavement, a puddle of blood growing next to his side. The wound wasn’t visible from Will’s angle, Nigel's attacker blocking his view, but Will knew he wouldn’t be on the ground if not for a devastating blow. 

His hand tightened around the knife, his eyes darted side to side as he took in his surroundings, noting the lack of witnesses. 

At another point in time, Will may have trembled in fear at the thought of attacking a man holding a gun, only a utility knife at his disposal. At another point, he would've closed his eyes and swallowed down bile at the thought of killing someone with that same knife. 

Now, the prospect left excitement coiling in his gut, as well as a fierce protectiveness of the man currently laying on the ground. 

He'd been  _ changed _ , and oh, how hard Hannibal had worked to make that a reality. 

Shifting his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet carefully, he stalked silently up behind the man in leather. As he neared, he saw Nigel's eyes flick from him to the attacker, his face showing almost no emotion in order to conceal Will's presence from the man above him. 

The attacker lowered his gun, he knew he had the upper hand

_ I haven't been in this business long. I'm young. I don't play by the rules and that's what makes me strong.  _

Will's lips quirked up in a smirk, and he struck. 

Kicking the back of the other man's legs, he watched as he fell to the ground, only touching him when his knees hit the pavement painfully. His gun hand pointed towards Will, but he wasn’t quick enough to keep Will from disarming him, the gun being tucked quickly into his waistband. 

A gunshot would be too loud, too much of a draw to them especially with the previous shot — and it wouldn’t be as intimate as Will would want. 

He took a moment to observe the soft lines of a young face. This wasn’t the face of a child, the man being roughly twenty-one, yet a pang still went through Will when he thought of taking such a young life. 

Then, he met his eyes. 

_ If I survive this, I will kill. And I will do it again and again. There’s no amount of fear good enough to stop me from doing that. _

Will grabbed the boy’s jaw and twisted  _ hard,  _ catching the body before it could fall to the ground with a dull thud. 

The pain or guilt that may have followed years ago was absent, only a dull acceptance accompanying his adrenaline-fueled excitement. 

Hannibal’s voice resonated in his head:  _ See. This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us. _

It was no longer Garret Jacob Hobbs haunting him, but instead Hannibal’s disembodied voice. As he dragged the man to the side of the alley, propping him against a wall, he saw Hannibal in his mind’s eye. 

_ It’s almost as though you  _ want _ to be caught, with how many fingerprints you’re leaving on him.  _

“Shut up,” Will muttered under his breath, his hand going to his pocket to pull out his hand sanitizer and a napkin. 

Once the dead man’s jaw and arm were clean of any fingerprints, Will looked to Nigel. His skin was ashen, a stark comparison from the tan and healthy skin he’d had the day before. Blood soaked through his white shirt and seeped onto the ground beneath.

“You done talkin’ to yourself?” Nigel bit out, his body rigid with pain.

“Maybe,” Will shrugged, sucking in his lips for a minute with displeasure before continuing, “Can you walk on your own?”

“Of course,” Nigel spat, pushing himself up slightly with one arm before it collapsed under the weight. Will watched him try three more times to lift himself up, each time falling down and pulling at his wound more. 

“Is it possible you were mistaken?” Will asked, a raise of his eyebrow following.

“Shut the fuck up.” The words would have been more biting if they hadn’t been slurred from blood loss. 

“Ooookay,” Will said, taking the few steps to get to Nigel. “I’m gonna help you out, and you don’t owe me anything, all right? I’m not looking for you to pay a debt later on or anything.”

Nigel’s eyes were focusing and unfocusing, trying to keep his attention on Will while his body was shutting down to go into survival mode. 

Will removed his jacket, making sure he put the knife in his pants pocket before picking Nigel up and wrapping it around him. Nigel wasn’t completely gone yet, there enough to help with the carrying and the walking, but Will suspected Nigel in a clearer state wouldn’t allow anything of the sort — and Will was usually right. 

The trip back to his apartment was an unpleasant one. The jacket wrapped around Nigel kept his wound from prying eyes, but a grown man holding onto him like a drunk at only noon was something to stare at. 

At the risk of keeping Nigel from safety for too long, Will walked him the longer way home. Arriving from the direction of the murder wouldn’t do too well for them if anybody saw and the news had spread. He’d yet to completely collapse against Will, which was a good sign, but Will’s muscles were tensed for whenever that may happen. 

It took a total of fifteen minutes to get back to Will’s house, and Nigel wasn’t looking good. A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin, his legs trembled, and his eyes were darting back and forth behind his eyelids. 

Will walked him through his house, removing the jacket on him once they got to his bedroom. 

“ _ Oh _ .” 

For a gunshot wound, it wasn’t terrible. Two inches to the left and it would’ve punctured his lung, and a few inches higher from that and he wouldn’t have made it ten feet. 

“You could almost call this a graze,” Will said aloud, laying Nigel down on his bed. The sheets would need replacing, and often, but it was the only thing he had. Nigel lay unconscious, or at least very close to it. “It almost hurts me, looking at it. That’s the weird thing about empathy disorders.” Or his specific one — there wasn’t much research done on them, and definitely not whatever it was he seemed to have. 

To him, it was just autism’s hyperempathy with an overactive imagination to accompany.

_ Nothing so simple could define you, _ Hannibal spoke, his presence becoming known at the side of the stream. He stood on a large rock, one that Will hadn’t taken note of. This was his stream, how could he disregard that? 

“ _ Get out of my head, _ ” Will muttered, knowing it to be fruitless. The Hannibal in him would leave when the real Hannibal was no longer affecting him.

Will decided he better get used to the company. 

Getting towels and all the first aid supplies he had, he got to work. 

Nigel’s shirt had to go, the fabric sticking to him with already coagulating blood. Will quickly wiped the area clean of old blood with a damp washrag, noting the slow gush of blood that still left the wound. It seemed to be slowing down, which made Will heave out a relieved sigh. 

Nigel’s fingers twitched with a pained moan, making Will flinch and reach for his knife before he noted Nigel was still passed out. 

This was a dangerous man, no matter how injured, Will had gleamed that from their first interaction. 

Will couldn’t do stitches, didn’t have the supplies nor the skills, so he cleaned and dressed the wound — listening to advice from the apparition of Hannibal in his head. He would have to think about that later, about how a part of his mind recalled things that he didn’t realize and gave him the information in the shape of Hannibal. How Hannibal had dug his way into Will’s mind until there was a section of his brain dedicated to mimicking him. 

Yeah, he needed to think about that. 

Will gave Nigel water, making sure not to give him too much at once in his unconscious state. Slow and steady, and the body would swallow on it’s own. 

_ Fluids transmitted intravenously would be the best way to take care of him, as well as a blood transfusion.  _

“Well, I obviously don’t have the equipment for that, so if you could say something  _ actually _ helpful, I might thank you.” 

Hannibal made a “tsk” sound, and Will felt his presence dissipate. The absence was a weight off his shoulders, while also a pain in his gut. 

Will’s eyes raked down the unconscious man’s body, looking for any wounds he may have missed. He allowed himself to examine the poorly done pin-up girl on his neck, letting out a little laugh at himself for thinking for even a second this man could be Hannibal. 

Their bodies were similar, but where Hannibal’s stomach was soft from over-indulgence, this man’s was hard. Hannibal could fight, and he could fight well, but Will had to wonder if he would win in a fight with Nigel. This man whose body was made for it, who had been fighting for his entire life and had fought  _ dirty. _

Will closed his eyes, counting down from ten. It wouldn’t do any good to empathize with a man who might not make it through the night. 

He opened his eyes, and had just enough time to jump back before a hand grabbed where his throat was a mere half-second ago. 

“ _ What the  _ fuck _ are you doing? _ ” Came a weak growl. 

Will stayed six feet away from the bed, eyeing the way the bandage pulled taught with the movement. “Don’t move too fast. The wound  _ just _ stopped bleeding.”

“You didn’t answer the  _ fucking  _ question, sweetheart,” The endearment was anything but, with the tone he used. It sounded like unsheathing a weapon, like a promise for more harm to come. 

“Nigel — I’m helping you, okay? What’s so hard to believe about that?” Will wanted to close his eyes again, but knew keeping his eyes off of this man was an incredible mistake. He could feel himself lowering his center of gravity, preparing for a fight because Nigel was.

Nigel’s eyes were narrowed, his elbows propped on the bed to hold his upper body up. If Will didn’t know the severity of his wound, he would think this was an able-bodied man who was about to beat the shit out of him. 

Looking down, Nigel observed his bandages and the state of his body. He lifted a hand to the bandage and looked up sharply when Will took a step forward to try to stop him. He stepped back again, holding his hands up.

Nigel touched the bandage over the wound gently, hissing in pain and quickly pulling back.

“I didn’t give you anything for the pain. I can, I have some pretty strong painkillers, but I don’t know what might already be in your system and don’t want to accidentally  _ kill _ you.” 

“I don’t have  _ anything  _ in my system besides fucking anger with you. I’m a dealer, not an addict. Would you drink the lemonade at your fucking third grade lemonade stand? No.”

“I mean, I might,” Will said, shrugging as he did so.

Nigel scowled at him. “You’d be a shitty businessman.”

“Probably.” 

Nigel paused, looking at him with a gaze that could melt steel. “You took off my clothes.”

Will raised an eyebrow, taken off guard by the left turn in the conversation. “Your wound was under your shirt and it was sticking to it, of course I removed it.” His eyes glanced over the bandage once more, wondering what Nigel could be so angry about— 

_ The scars. _

Barely there, faded with the years scars ran under his pectoral muscle. Will recognized them instantly when his eyes caught him, feeling his own scars with uneasy clarity. 

“I didn’t see those before,” Will said, taking another step back when Nigel pushed himself up further in bed, fire burning in his eyes. Will quickly took the bottom of his shirt and lifted it up, moving back far enough for his back to press against the wall. 

His own scars were only a few years old, never wanting to go under the knife until his dysphoria got too bad for him to function. The lines were still red, with Will doing nothing to minimize the scarring besides the basic aftercare after surgery. 

Nigel looked at them, looking back up at Will’s face and examining him. Hannibal had a way of dissecting Will with a mere gaze, and this was the one thing Will could see they had in common besides their looks. Behind Nigel’s eyes was a brain that was good at problem-solving, good at reading a person for signs of danger. He lived in a world where there’s glass every other step, so his feet grew calloused and his eyes became sharp.

“Well, shit.” Nigel shrugged, wincing as it jarred his wound. He sunk back down into the mattress, his body relaxing. “Can never be too careful out there,” He said, looking at Will through half-lidded eyes. 

It seemed now that Nigel knew he had nothing to fight, he felt the effects of his wound and his exertion two-fold. 

“Painkillers?” Will asked, his voice uncertain. 

“If I can take them by my-fucking-self, yeah.” 

Will hummed an affirmative sound, moving to his haphazardly organized bag of medical supplies sat on his nightstand. Everything was clean, but it needed some work as well as more bandages. Will suspected he’d have to change the dressings at  _ least _ four times a day, with how large the injury was. He brought out the small bottle of painkillers, remembering what the pharmacist said when she’d given him them. 

“These are opioids, that okay with you? 

“Did I  _ fucking _ stutter?” Nigel breathed out. 

Will rolled his eyes, “No, you  _ fucking _ didn’t.” 

Nigel’s head tilted rolled towards him, a frown etched into his features, “Are you, and I want you to be really fucking sure of what you’re  _ fucking _ saying before you answer,  _ mocking  _ me?” 

Will met Nigel’s eyes with a deadpan stare. “I’m  _ imitating  _ you and your distinct way of speaking.” 

“Sounds like a fancy fucking way of saying  _ mocking _ .” 

“Nigel, look—" He handed him one tablet of the painkillers, a glass of water, and then continued— “I don’t care if you like me or not. I’m just trying to keep you from dying of infection or blood-loss. I’m not the best person to get along with, especially  _ now, _ and I think you might have that same problem. Stop acting all high and mighty when I’m the one here, bandaging you while you’re unconscious and giving you  _ opioids. _ ” Will took a deep breath, “That’s not me saying you owe me anything, I don’t care. We’re equals, that's all I want.” 

Silence hung in the air, Will’s fingers twitching with built up energy. 

That was the most he’d said at one time since Hannibal died.

Will took another deep breath, watching Nigel for whatever reaction he was going to have. 

Nigel looked to the pill in his hand, and silently put it in his mouth, washing it down with water. The sound of swallowing permeated the air before that was gone, too.

He laid back in the bed, and Will wondered how many of his mood shifts he’d have to deal with before he properly calmed down. 

It was another minute before Nigel broke the silence. “I’m interested in how you’re worse than before.” It seemed the long day was finally getting to him, because his words were already quiet and drawn out with lethargy.

“Things happen, things that make moving to a country where you know no one and don’t speak the language seem like a good idea.” 

Nigel nodded, and Will could tell from the slight movement, he was nearly out. 

Will left another loose pill on the nightstand while putting the bottle in his bag. “Don’t take more than one every twelve hours.” 

Nigel grunted in response. 

Will set a timer for five hours on his phone, a reminder to check Nigel’s bandages to see if they were close to being soaked through, as well to see if he were still  _ alive. _

He sat on the sofa in his den, holding his head in his hands, pressing the heels off his hands into his eye sockets. 

The silence of the apartment was so  _ loud _ . 

Hannibal was behind him, he watched as Will cast out a line, his hold on the real world slipping as well as his hold on his own.

_ He’s not what I wanted for you. _

A pained laugh tore itself out of Will, the only reply he could come up with being a soft, “ _ I know. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long! hopefully the long chapter made up for it~ 
> 
> you can find me @ lucasjagten on tumblr or @ binmundane on twitter!

**Author's Note:**

> if yall wanna follow me on tumblr i'm over [here!](https://haljords.tumblr.com/) come talk to me about dogsdogs because like maybe 3 people in total are talking about it and i need it


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